Mad Girl's Love Song
by ShiplessOceans
Summary: The police think Dani's sister committed suicide, but Dani isn't so sure. When she travels to Santa Carla to unravel the mystery of Stella's death, she begins to uncover the dark secrets of the quirky little beach town. Secrets that will put her own life in danger. David/OC but NOT A LOVE STORY.
1. Prologue

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** My first ever fanfic! Please be kind. This story has been rattling around in my head for quite some time. I wanted to explore just how it came to be that The Lost Boys and Max can stay in a town as small as Santa Carla and not be linked to all of the missing people. This is definitely not a romance. There will be sexual themes, but I'm writing the boys as bloodthirsty vampires with little regard for human life. Story takes place roughly a year before the events of the movie.

Also, the title comes from the Sylvia Plath poem.

* * *

PROLOGUE

 _Follow me into the endless night,_ _  
_ _I can bring your fears to life._

\- Lord Huron, "Meet Me In The Woods"

Vernon pushed through the crowd on the boardwalk in the direction of the girl's scream. Years on the job trained him to distinguish the squeals of excitement from thrill rides or kids hyped up on sugar to those of panic or fear.

Night was a strange time for the Santa Carla Boardwalk. It was as if the place slowly shifted into a higher gear as the sun dipped below the ocean. The lights on the rides flickered to life and gave the illusion that the rides were a little faster. The music was a little louder. The wholesome, kitschy, slightly rundown amusement park vanished and was replaced with something just a little more unpredictable… _dangerous._

The scream came from the food pavilion at the far eastern end of the boardwalk. At this time of night most of the shops and food vendors in that area were closed, and in the summer it became a hangout for the older teens to congregate in the shadows to smoke, and do whatever else punk kids got did when they didn't have school or jobs.

Tonight, the loiterers were limited to a small group of young men clustered next to the stairs that led to the beach. A girl stood a few feet back from them under the awning. As he drew close, Vernon could just make out her flushed face in the dim light. She was crying.

"Hey! What's going on here?" Vernon addressed the group in his best "cut the shit" voice. As their features took shape in the darkness, he recognized them as one of the punk kid gangs that prowled the boardwalk at night. Each one had a gimmick. This was the one with the motorcycles and the crazy outfits.

The blonde gang leader's eyes were locked on the girl, who stared back at him without moving. After a moment, he slid his eyes over to Vernon. Despite the kid's ridiculous hair and outfit, Vernon felt a lurch of something like unease when he felt those eyes fall on him. The night was cold ( _the nights are always cold in Santa Carla_ ) but the shiver that crawled down his back was not from the chill in the air.

Vernon felt there was something familiar about all of this this. _Like déjà vu all over again, as Berra would say._

No one spoke, and the only sound coming from the girl's hitched breathing and the muffled sounds of the boardwalk in the distance.

Vernon had been a security guard long enough to know that most punk kids talked a big talk, but at the end of the day, the tough guy act crumbled in the face of an adult in a uniform.

Not so with this group. There was no fear the leader's eyes. Eyes that seemed a little too bright. A little too aware.

A breeze from the beach blew past the boys, stirring the leader's black duster and bringing the rotting smell of the ocean, and underneath, an electric smell like the air after a storm. The girl took a small step back under the pavilion awning.

Finally the leader smiled at Vernon, almost affectionately. It reminded him of the way an old man might smile at the antics of a child. _I'm the adult here,_ Vernon thought uneasily. _But why doesn't it feel that way?_

"Nothing's going on here," the leader answered mildly. "We were just leaving. Right boys?"

The three long-haired boys nodded ascent, hiding laughter. The leader looked back at the girl as the others turned to walk down the steps.

"Stella?" His voice was soft, expectant. She stared at him, rapt, her tears catching the light of the bonfires on the beach. She took a step towards him.

Vernon put his hand on the girl's shoulder. She was trembling like a leaf. _Or a rabbit staring into the face of a fox._ She was a pretty thing, although she could do with a good meal and a night's sleep. The shadows under her eyes were deep.

"Do you want to go with them, sweetheart?" Vernon asked. "You don't have to."

His voice seemed to break whatever secret was passing between her and the leader. The girl started and looked up at Vernon, eyes wide.

"No. I don't want to go with them." Her voice was barely a whisper. She shook off Vernon's hand and took a few more lurching steps backward.

Something about her movements reminded Vernon of the times he'd find the odd spider in his bathroom. He would knock it into the bathtub, turn on the water, and watch it slide down the drain as it struggled to free itself from the current. The girl seemed to be struggling against a current that pulled her towards these strange boys and the blackness beyond.

" _Stella."_

The leader's voice was still soft, but the tone changed. _A warning._

The girl _(Stella?)_ let out a wild, barking sound like a cross between a sob and a laugh. Then she turned and ran down the boardwalk, her long dark hair flying behind her like a banner. The leader watched her until she vanished into the crowd. His expression was inscrutable.

Vernon wasn't sure what just happened, but he knew that girl was terrified of this kid. He was a goddamn adult and he was going to do his job. He refused to acknowledge the pull of unease _(fear)_ in his own gut. He glared at the group of punks.

"Okay you little shit. If I see you and your friends on the boardwalk again I'm calling the cops." Vernon put his hand on his nightstick for effect.

The leader smiled again. That patronizing, ageless smile.

"No, you won't."

His friends had halted their descent on the stairs, and at this they turned around expectantly.

"The hell I won't," Vernon fumed. "I mean it. If I see your face one more time-"

"One more time? We've done this many, many times."

 _What the hell is this kid talking about?_

But there was that tendril of familiarity again. Dark shapes were curling in at the corner of Vernon's vision. This conversation. A threat. Violence. This had happened before. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

One of the other boys, the small one with curly hair, hopped back up the steps to stand next to the leader.

"If we do this much more the old man's gonna to crack up. Shouldn't we just-"

"We will." The leader cut him off. "But not tonight."

Vernon's vision swam. His head began to throb, and he found standing upright to be incredibly difficult. _It's happening again._

In a flash it all came back to him: one blinding moment of clarity in which he knew that this _had_ happened before. In startling clarity he remembered all of the confrontations, all of the grisly discoveries. The time he found them leading a family of four off the boardwalk _(and hadn't he seen their missing posters posted among all the others?)_ The time he caught the dark-eyed one in an embrace with a woman on a park bench, only to see the woman fall from his arms like a broken doll. The time he broke up a party on the beach and found _so much blood…_

…and at the center of it all was this smirking kid ( _not a kid_ ) and his gang of mirthful companions.

As quickly as the revelation came, it began to fade, swallowed by the dark shadows creeping across his vision. He dropped to his knees, arms outstretched as though trying to find something to hold. _I have to remember this time…have to…._

"You won't remember."

The leader knelt so that his eyes were level with Vernon's. His tone was amiable, almost pleasant. As though they were two neighbors discussing the weather. "And that girl you thought you saved…?"

 _No._

"She's already dead."

* * *

Vernon looked out over the Santa Carla beach. No moon tonight. A few bonfires flickered here and there, but otherwise the beach was deserted. Although he couldn't see it, and he knew beyond those bonfires spread the black, cold expanse of the ocean.

He blinked slowly. How long had he been standing here? His head felt heavy, like every new thought had to swim through something thick to reach the surface.

 _Like a spider..._

He looked back towards the main stretch of the boardwalk. People were filing out as the shop lights turned off. Closing time. Time to make his rounds.

As Vernon walked away from the pavilion towards the carousel, he heard the rumble of engines revving to life somewhere on the beach. Must be that gang of punk kids who prowled the boardwalk at night. The ones with the crazy outfits.


	2. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Thank you for the follows/reviews!

This chapter does not feature the boys, but does start to reveal the identity of the mystery girl on the boardwalk.

I should note that I am playing fast and loose with vampire powers. In this story, vampires can wipe or erase memories, but they can't read minds. I wanted to give the humans a bit of a head start;-)

 _A dream among the sharks_ is a line from "The Horror of Our Love" by Ludo.

The Lost Boys is the property of Warner Brothers.

* * *

 _One woe doth tread upon another's heel, so fast they follow. Your sister's drowned._

HAMLET Act IV, Scene 7

* * *

I was planning to lose my virginity the night I found out Stella died.

I just finished my freshman year at Minnesota State College, and was in no hurry to return to my rural hometown and spend the summer working at the local diner. So I stuck around school for a week, staying in the off-campus house I rented with three other girls. Two of them were staying in town for the summer to pick up a few classes, and none of us had started our summer jobs yet. This meant a lot of free time, which meant a lot of partying.

To say I was enjoying college was an understatement. I loved it immediately. I was never burdened with the feelings of homesickness my sister had. Maybe it was because, unlike her, I chose a school fairly close to home, with a built in network of high school friends to ease the transition. Or maybe it was because I was the more social twin. I bloomed when surrounded by people.

Everyone was surprised when it turned out to be Stella, not me, who chose to attend school in California. Santa Carla State had a great pre-med program but was also a well-known party school nestled in a hippie beach town. It was hard to picture my introverted, solemn sister rubbing elbows with stoners and surfers. But off she went to Santa Carla, and I made myself at home at Minnesota State.

And that was where I met Jeff. I caught his eye at a quarter beer night at one of my favorite college bars. He was tall and tan and guileless, and within an hour of meeting him I knew I wanted him to be my first.

Our dates usually comprised of meeting up with my two roommates and our friends, heading to a bar, and gradually separating ourselves from the group as the drinks kicked in. The night usually ended with Jeff and me making out in a corner until bar close. Then he would walk me back to my house while a drunken debate raged within me over whether or not tonight was the night I invited him in. If I invited him in, it was happening. I would finally cross that threshold that most of my friends had easily leapt over in high school.

But every night Jeff would ask, and I would decline. He would kiss me goodnight, and I would stumble into bed alone. Rinse and repeat.

Until the night in question. Looking back, I can't say for sure why that night was different than the others. Why I felt ready. It was almost as if some part of me knew what was coming, that soon I would be thrown far over the threshold into adulthood, as if my subconscious was trying to shed itself of any last childish vestiges.

 _When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child. But when I grew up, I put away childish things._

The phone was ringing when Jeff and I opened the door to my house, both pleasantly drunk. At first I ignored the incessant rings, preferring instead to twine my fingers in Jeff's blonde hair and kiss him deeply. _Tonight's the night. I'm ready_.

As we kissed, I rehearsed how I would broach the subject. I decided the best, most adult way would be to break the kiss, gaze into his eyes, and say in a low, calm voice, "Do you have a condom?"

But the goddamn phone wouldn't stop ringing.

"Should you get that?" Jeff spoke into my mouth.

"Ughhh….yes."

I made my way over to the phone in the kitchen, my steps weaving slightly from my buzz.

"Hello?"

"Dani?" A sob greeted me on the other end. My mother. My mother was crying.

"Mom! What's wrong?" I sobered immediately.

"It's Stella….oh god Stella…she's…honey, she's dead."

I sank to the floor. I was dimly aware that Jeff was suddenly next to me, talking to me. And Mom had dissolved into sobs at the other end of the phone. But everything felt muted. Far away.

"What?" I don't know why I asked. I heard what she said. _Maybe if I ask her to repeat it, the answer will change._

"She…she…the police...they found her washed up on the rocks below some cliffs by Santa Carla. They…oh God Dani… they think she jumped."

I dropped the phone and curled up on the floor.

Stella.

 _Time to put away childish things._

* * *

I returned home, and the next two weeks were a blur of grief. I remember only flashes. Both of my parents traveling out to Santa Carla to ID Stella's body, returning home as ghosts of their former selves. My mother crying, always crying. My father withdrawing to his workshop in the basement for hours at a time. Cobbling together a black outfit for the funeral from a black skirt I had from my job at the diner and one of my mother's sweaters. An endless stream of neighbors checking in on us, making sure our broken little family survived the night. A refrigerator full of every kind of hot dish.

There were also many phone calls with the Santa Carla Police Department. When Stella was found forensic investigators estimated she'd been in the water about two days. No sign of foul play, although the scavengers had taken their toll. A surfer stumbled across her body beneath Hudson's Bluff, a popular surf spot that looked out over the Santa Carla Beach Boardwalk.

"It's a popular place for suicides," the detective told us. "There are no railings along the cliff."

"But how do you know it's a suicide?" my mother asked, dabbing her red eyes with a tissue. "There was no note. How can you be sure?"

"I know it's hard to hear, ma'am," the detective answered. "We interviewed to a couple of her friends, and apparently she had mentioned taking her life. Of course we'll keep the case open and continue to investigate, but unless we get a solid lead…"

Most of all, I remember spending hours in Stella's bedroom, now forever stopped in time. A frozen slice of life for a girl who would never grow up.

I laid on her bed and stared up at the walls papered with posters and photos from magazines of the bands she loved. She was fond of a genre of music I called "Sad Asshole Rock." The Cure, The Smiths, and Depeche Mode were her favorites. And Stella loved art too. Prints of her favorite paintings were scattered among the posters of sad men in black.

I studied the artifacts of her life and tried to feel something. I was her identical twin. _We were supposed to be connected._ And we had been, once upon a time. Her death should feel like a piece of me was ripped away, but instead I felt nothing.

I poured over her photos, her face so much like mine and yet so different. We were like photo negatives of the same girl. Stella's hair was long and dark, while I sprayed lemon juice on my locks to lighten them in the sun. Her skin was pale, and mine was bronzed from hours outside playing softball. By high school we had grown apart, living different lives that rarely intersected. She was drawn to drama, art, and biology, while I excelled at softball, cheerleading, and student council. There was no animosity between us; just an unspoken understanding that we were on different paths.

College only increased the divide. Now we weren't just separated by interests. We had a couple thousand miles between us. I tried to remember the last time we had talked on the phone. Was it January? February? I vaguely remembered her telling me about some part-time job she got at the boardwalk. Had she seemed happy? Would I have even noticed if she wasn't?

During a particularly intense excavation in Stella's room, one of the art prints on her wall caught my attention. The piece was called "Ophelia" by John Everett Miles. It depicted Hamlet's Ophelia, covered in flowers and drowning in the waters of a stream. Her arms are outstretched, palms up, as if welcoming her death. Her face looked entranced, almost ecstatic. I imagined Stella floating in the ocean, seaweed woven through her beautiful dark hair. Her eyes open, unseeing. _A dream among the sharks._ I looked away.

 _Did she really kill herself?_

Mom was convinced she wasn't suicidal. And just because Stella liked a painting of Ophelia and listened to Sad Asshole Rock didn't mean she did a swan dive off a cliff.

 _Stella_ , I thought. _What happened to you?_

* * *

An answer came a few days later.

My parents had gone to counseling. I was up in Stella's room thumbing through her book collection when the doorbell rang. I was expecting it to be another wellness check-slash-hot dish delivery from one of the neighbors, so I was surprised to see a UPS truck in the driveway.

"Are you Danica Ericson?" the man in the brown uniform asked. I nodded.

"This is for you." He handed me a small rectangular box wrapped in craft paper. Did Jeff send me something?

I scrawled my signature on his clipboard and watched him climb back into the truck before shutting the front door and looking down at the package. My heart stopped when I saw the return address in a familiar looping script.

 **S. ERICSON**

 **SANTA CARLA, CA**

 _What the fuck._

A wave of unreality washed over me. The postmark was three days before Stella's body was found.

I dropped to my knees and tore open the paper.

In my hands I held a battered purple Mead notebook. The pages inside were bulging and uneven as though it had been submerged in water at some point. With trembling hands I opened the cover and read the note in blue pen on the first page.

 _Dani,_

 _I'm sending this journal to you because I think something might happen to me and don't want them to find it. I don't want HIM to find it. But it's important that someone else knows what is happening in Santa Carla._

 _Don't tell anyone about this journal._ _Not even the police._ _Burn it after you read it._

 _You have to find a way to stop them. Come to Santa Carla. Go to the comic shop on the boardwalk._

 _Love you to the moon and back,_

 _Stella_

 _PS- You're only safe in the daylight._

I sat in the foyer for a long time, my eyes closed, listening to my heart pounding in my ears. Stella's notebook sat in my lap, still opened to that first page and that note.

Reading those words, my sister's last words to me, made it seem as though she was suddenly right next to me. As if a door burst open in my heart, and the connection to Stella that I was searching for since her death was suddenly flowing through me, strong and certain. If I opened my eyes again, what would I see? If I kept reading, what would I learn?

She said she was afraid. She said she thought she might get hurt. _She didn't kill herself. She wants me to find out what happened to her._

Finally, after what seemed like hours, I opened my eyes and looked down again at the notebook. I eased myself off the floor and made my way to Stella's bedroom, my legs feeling like they would give way with every step.

I sat down on her on her bed, propped the notebook on my lap, and began to read.


	3. Chapter 2

Thank you all for the reviews, follows and favs!

The following chapter includes (most) of the contents of Stella's journal. Apologies for any formatting weirdness- I'm still getting the hang of how the doc manager works.

Also, I made a playlist that I listen to while writing this story. If anyone is interested in it, let me know and I'll post a link with the next update!

* * *

 _Bright are the stars that shine_  
 _Dark is the sky_  
 _I know this love of mine_  
 _Will never die_

\- The Beatles, "And I Love Her"

 _Not a word of goodbye, not even a note_ _  
_ _She gone with the man in the long black coat_

\- Bob Dylan, "The Man In The Long Black Coat"

* * *

STELLA'S DIARY

 _ **November 3**_

 _Santa Carla is cold all the time. I thought California was supposed to be sunny and warm. Instead the mornings are chilly and cloudy, and even when the sun comes out it's still cold by the ocean. And it's always windy._

 _Everyone here is so weird. The boardwalk is run down and trashy. The locals also say it's dangerous, although I think they say that to all the out-of-towners. The beach is gross and smells like rotting fish. And homeless people are EVERYWHERE. Most of them are kids even younger than me._

 _Santa Carla State is okay. Most of the people who go here only care smoking pot and surfing. I knew it would be a big change from Minnesota…but I guess I thought I'd meet at least a couple people I connected with._

 _Mom and Dad are worried. They never wanted me to come out here. After all, I'm the "quiet twin". Dani is the outgoing one with all the friends. Why would I be the one to move all the way out to California where I don't know anyone?_

 _I don't know why I did it either. The pre-med program is great and I love my classes, but there are plenty of schools closer to home that would be just as good. I guess part of me wants to prove that I can take a risk and do something a little scary. And no one knows me here. Maybe I can make a fresh start. Goodbye Stella the Bookworm, right?_

 _Except I'm learning it's not that easy to completely change who you are inside._

 _ **November 10**_

 _I AM TRYING TO MAKE FRIENDS. You heard it here first._

 _I've been tagging along with Shelly to watch the surfers at Hudson's Bluff. It's pretty fun. The waves are enormous and the surfers are really good, although a lot of them are territorial assholes. Especially one group who call themselves the "Surf Nazis". COOL NAME, DUDES. They all talk like Jeff Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High without a trace of irony. Shelly loves flirting with them, though, so I usually get stuck talking to them whenever we go there. Sometimes I also think they feel like they get stuck talking to me. Flirting comes so easy to Shelly. The odd art of talking about nothing while somehow making the other person feel special._

 _Yesterday one of the surfers slipped on the rocks while getting his board into the water. He cut his leg pretty bad and the rest of the Surf Nazis made him get out of the water since the blood might attract sharks._

 _I miss lakes. The ocean scares me._

 _ **November 12**_

 _Things I miss from home:_

 _The feel of the carpet between my toes in my bedroom_

 _Hearing my mom make coffee in the morning_

 _Lakes_

 _Being able to read for hours and not have people think it's weird_

 _Dani. I wonder how she likes Minnesota State?_

 _ **November 15**_

 _Shelly told me one of the Surf Nazis likes me. His name is Rick and he works on the Boardwalk as a part-time ride operator. I don't know how I feel about him. He's pretty cute but we don't have much in common. He's a lot older than me. All he talks about is surfing and I can't understand half of the slang he uses. Plus he never asks me any questions about me._

 _Shelly thinks I'd be crazy not to go for him. I don't know…I've never had a boyfriend before. I've never even really liked a guy. Maybe this is how it is. I guess I was expecting more…?_

 _ **November 17**_

 _Just got home from a "date" with Rick. And when I say date, we went to the Boardwalk and walked around with all of his Surf Nazi friends. At one point one of them stole a bunch of sunglasses from one of the kiosks. Rick laughed so hard, and I could tell he wanted me to think it was cool. Sorry to disappoint._

 _Rick kissed me before he dropped me off at Muir Hall. My first kiss! It felt different than what I was expecting. Really wet and his hands were everywhere._

 _I don't know what's wrong with me. All those times in high school when I wished for a boyfriend…and now I have one and it doesn't seem that great._

 _On the plus side, Rick got me a part time job at Janet's Jewelry Hut on the Boardwalk. $5 an hour and all I have to do is stand there and sell tacky necklaces to tourists. And the hours are really flexible, which is good because finals are coming up and I really need time to study._

 _ **December 11**_

 _Good news! The job is going well. I was worried I'd have to be really talkative to sell the jewelry, but most of the job is just taking money and watching for shoplifters. And I like working for Janet. She loves The Cure and The Smiths so it's easy to make small talk with her._

 _I mostly work weekend nights, which means I get to experience the Boardwalk in all its crowded, touristy glory. The people watching here cannot be topped._

 _Rick and I are still hanging out, although with the job and finals approaching I don't have much free time. Which is fine with me._

 _ **April 3**_

 _Tonight was weird._

 _I just got home from closing up at Janet's. Usually I leave right before we close and Janet shuts the kiosk down for the night (she's a night owl and she says closing is a meditation and helps her sleep- such a hippie!). But she couldn't do it tonight since she's headed out of town first thing tomorrow morning._

 _We close shortly before the Boardwalk closes, so when I leave there are still a few people walking around. But tonight I stayed until it was almost totally empty. It is CREEPY. The rides stop, the lights go off, and suddenly all you can hear is the ocean._

 _I was trying to put everything away as fast as possible so I could get the hell out of there, but like a total dweeb I dropped a bunch of earrings. As I was crouched down feeling around with my hands in the dark, I felt a weird chill. I can't describe it other than I felt certain that someone was watching me. I've read about "the hairs on the back of your neck standing up" but I never thought it was real until tonight._

 _Then it got even weirder. I felt this_ pull _in my chest. Like there was a string attached to me and someone gave it a tug. Suddenly I wanted to get up and walk towards the Boardwalk railing. I can't explain it. In my mind I knew I didn't want to. I wanted to RUN but I found myself getting to my feet and turning around._

 _It only lasted for a few seconds and then it was gone just as suddenly as it came. I locked the kiosk and ran out of the Boardwalk. I'll come clean about the earrings to Janet when she's back. I am NOT closing again._

 _ **April 10**_

 _I dreamt about him last night._

 _In my dream we were the only two people on the Boardwalk. I was standing in front of the carousel but it wasn't running._

 _He walked up to me and kissed me right on the mouth. I kissed him back. His lips and mouth were so cold…like biting into a frozen apple._

 _But the kiss…the kiss was everything. I felt it in every part of my body. I can still feel it._

 _I can't stop thinking about the dream. I can't stop thinking about him._

 _I hope he comes to the Boardwalk again tonight._

 _ **April**_ _ **18**_

 _How does he know me so well? We don't even talk that much. Or maybe we do…I can't really remember._

 _It's strange…when I'm with him I feel complete. Like I'm exactly where I need to be and I'm exactly who I should be. All that matters is that I am near him. But when we are apart I don't really remember what we talk about or what we do. I remember flashes…laughter, riding with him, candles, the boom of the waves in the cave. His beautiful friends. How he smells like the air after a thunderstorm. How it feels when he touches me…god I wish he would never stop touching me._

 _I don't even know how many classes I've missed. I know I need to my grades back on track. But all of that feels so trivial._

 _Lately I love to watch the sun go down. Because I know when night comes I'll see him again._

 _ **April 21**_

 _Shelly and I got in a fight. She says I've changed and I shouldn't hang around them any more because the Surf Nazis say they are "dangerous". I find it pretty convenient that she decides to start caring about me right at the moment that I meet real friends and am actually happy._

* * *

At this point it looked like several pages were ripped out of the notebook haphazardly from the notebook. I ran my finger over the ragged edges and kept reading, noting the drastic change in Stella's handwriting. The entries turned sloppy, almost to the point where I had trouble deciphering what was written.

* * *

 _ **May 1**_

 _I tried to run yesterday. I called a cab in the morning and took it to the bus station. I used my entire savings to buy a ticket to St. Paul._

 _But then night came. And, as if on cue, the bus got a flat on I-80 and came skidding to a stop at the side of the road._

 _I knew it was him as soon as I heard the first tire explode. I could smell him…the ozone in the air after a storm._

 _When I stepped off the bus he was there, standing in the darkness just off the road._

 _I asked him how he found me and he said, "I will always find you, Stella. Remember that."_

 _I told him to just kill me and get it over with. He took me in his arms, and I felt his cold breath as he chuckled against my neck._

" _Eventually. Or maybe you'll just go insane."_

 _ **May 4**_

 _I think there is at least one more. The real leader. One that is telling them what to do. Not all of them know who it is. But_ he _knows._

 _The whole town is a part of it. The Frogs are right about everything._

 _ **May 15**_

 _His voice is in my mind all the time now. Even after everything, I still want him. And he knows it._

 _He's right. I'm going to go insane._

But not before I find a way to stop him.


End file.
